Full Circle
by The Jack of Broken Hearts
Summary: It's often considered a curse if you wish for something or someone that you can't have. When a young child wishes for this impossibility whilst he is exposed to a new world where logic is defied at every turn, he begins to wonder, to even hope that it might be possible. Fast forward a few years, he's found a way to do so. Non canon Harry. Neville is BWL. Eventual Harry/Fleur.
1. Chapter 1

Full circle

Summary; It's often considered a curse if you wish for something or someone that you can't have...When a young child wishes for this impossibility when he is exposed to a world where logic is defied at every turn , he begins to wonder, to even hope that it might be possible. Fast forward a few years and he's found a way to do so. Non canon Harry. Neville is BWL. Eventual Harry/Fleur.

* * *

This would probably be the only significant author's note that I will write, so please just bear with me and read it.

This is meant to give the reader an idea on what this fiction is about, so that they can decide now if they like the ideas and want to read the story, or if isn't their cup of tea and reading it would be a waste of their time. **I.e** : **If you don't like it, don't read it. If you don't like it, but still read it and subsequently flame me in the reviews, then I can't say I didn't warn you.**

I'm going to make this as short as possible:

 **This story is in two main parts: The first is Harry's time through Hogwarts (1st-7th year) and then the second will cover approximately 3 years after Hogwarts.**

 **I have aged Harry two years above canon and made it so that Neville is the BWl. (I.e. so he starts Hogwarts in 1989 as opposed to 1991)Naturally, the two of them are different from canon because of this. On the Halloween night of 1981, a (3 year old) Harry lost both of his parents to the death eaters. They were both killed protecting their son, so there is no magical coma induced by the cruciatus curse like in canon. The full story about their deaths will be revealed much later in the story, although it isn't very relevant right now.**

 **In the aftermath of his parents' homicide, he was relocated to live with the Dursleys as in canon. However, certain aspects of his life at the Dursleys have been exaggerated in places and Harry reacts how a child would react in this situation, even if the end result is darker and more sobering than JK Rowling put it out to be.**

 **He arrives at Hogwarts knowing magical theory/basic bits of the wizarding world that he didn't know in canon. How he knows this will be explained in the first chapter/prologue.**

 **Harry is NOT going to get any marriage contracts or have any unexpected inheritance/relation to merlin or the founders. Nothing of the sort.**

 **Do NOT expect Harry to be the typical Gryffindor, as in this fic he will be anything but that. His personality will be drastically different from canon but the first chapter explains why it is so. As a child, he may seem much more advanced than someone his age but there is a very good explanation for it- its not that he is the heir of merlin or something stupid like that. .**

 **Harry will be a powerful wizard and "OP in some ways", but his strength will be realistic as possible as he will have checks to his power and he will NOT** **be like those God-like Harry's as portrayed in other fics** **. Having checks on his power IMO ultimately makes his character believable, more enjoyable to read and write about. There is a "power that he knows not" (despite him not being the BWL) and it is not love, but it is closely related to arithmancy. I also feel that it will later turn out to be very ironic for 'Old Tom'.**

 **The prophecy does exist but is irrelevant until near the end of the story.**

 **Dumbledore is to be portrayed as a person that has good intentions but is fatally flawed. He will not be the manipulating warlock as shown by other fics. Then again they do they that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.**

 **I can confirm now that there will be no Harry/Ginny or Harry/Hermione- both pairings irk me.**

 **Eventual Harry/Fleur.**

 **The story will flit between first and third person narration. To my knowledge, only the first scene will be written in first person, the rest will be third person. However some other scenes, probably flashbacks or dreams will be in first person.**

 **Death will be the main theme of this story and my interpretation of it may be disturbing and most likely it will be rather sobering to younger readers. This story is rated M for a good reason. I know younger readers will inevitably read this: I am warning you now- you may find this extremely distressing.**

 **Elements of child abuse as well as mental health will be in this story- another thing that might be distressing for oddly enough, older readers. I'm saying that because I'm assuming that the older one's amongst us realise the true implications of a lot of this stuff.** **Frequent bouts of explicit land colourful language. Please don't repeat these in front of your parents. Actually do. I'd recommend trying it in a crowded public place.**

* * *

 _Prologue_

 _"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."- Nietzsche_

 _Pain. I feel it. I even hear it. It comes in three parts; a snarl, a sharp crack and then my own cries._

 _"Freak." That's what they call me, whilst they sneer and laugh at me. They call me either that or "Boy." Never Harry, just one of the two aforementioned names. They call me that name again, 'freak' it is this time, just to avoid any confusion if you even had any. A painful shove follows this, knocking me over and leaving sprawled out on the floor. My head makes a sickening thump as it makes contact with the polished wooden floor. I see stars as my dazed body struggles to stay in control of itself, the urge to black out becoming more and more inviting. Despite that, I still try to get to my feet, I thought maybe I would have a better chance to get away from my tormentors._

 _Bad move. I learnt that too late- hindsight is 20-20 I guess. A sharp kick in the ribs follows this as I wheeze out in pain and fall back down on the ground, winded by the impact of the sharp boot. I lay there in a pitiful state, gasping for air but they don't care. A feral growl follows and I find myself being thrown into my cell, sorry 'my room that I should be so grateful to receive.'_

 _Instantly darkness greets me like an old friend. "How was your day?" I can hear it crone. "How many times did they hit you today?"_

 _I tell it to fuck off. Pretty colourful language for a nine year old, I'll admit that. I added that phrase to my vocabulary at 7 years of age after hearing the Walrus repeatedly use it in an attempt to ward off the spiders. I didn't know what it meant at the time, all I knew was that after I said that to the Walrus the next time he ordered me to my 'room' without dinner I learnt how hard it was to see out of two black eyes. The purple/squashed beetroot look of the Walrus as well as the Giraffe rushing to cover the Pig's ears with her bony hands made it well worth it._

 _The voice is silent for several seconds before it asks what I did today besides the usual (breathing/existing) that set them off. Well it's pretty simple really; I asked them about my parents._

 _I didn't understand what the problem was, there was never anyone I ever remembered calling "Mum" or "Dad" and I had heard people at school call their parents that when they picked them up from said institution. Even the Pig had included those lexical items in his limited vocabulary. I knew that the Walrus and Giraffe weren't my parents, in fact they were my uncle and aunt. I shuddered when I realised that I was related to them. Well at least only one of them was by blood. A blessing in disguise if you looked at it in the way that it could have been much worse; i.e. I could be directly related to the three of them by blood._

 _I wondered fleetingly if there was a dry cloth in here which I could use to wipe the blood off my eardrums. Doubtful, then again if there was a cloth in hear I would have found it ages ago and it probably would have been covered in my blood. The Walrus had exploded onto a full-on rant at the question on where were my parents. I'd thank him for that later, he gave me a few more words to add to my ever-growing vocabulary. The word "cunt" slides off the tongue pretty nicely, I'll ask someone at school what it means tomorrow. I won't make the mistake in asking one of the teachers what it means. I learnt that lesson when I asked them to explain what the word "Shit" meant. Incidentally, my uncle ended up teaching me two others after receiving a phone call from school. I have to admit that they are growing on me, I mean does anyone else here share the satisfaction of calling something a "good for nothing shitbag" or a "fucking wanker."_

 _However the Walrus was useful in that he did provide some information about my parents. He told me that they were 6 feet under. At first I thought about getting a shovel and a pickaxe, but then i realised it must have been some sort of euphemism. He told me how they had abandoned me and got themselves killed in a car-crash. I seriously doubted the extent of what he told me as he tended to exaggerate quite a bit but he had a point. Those "no-good for nothing shitbags" did leave me with those "Cunts" so they therefore must have been some kind of "fucking wanker" for doing so._

 _From 6 painful years of living with them, I can safely say that I'd rather live with any other family on this planet. "Good for nothing shitbags" my parents may be, I'd rather live with them. Even if they were allegedly "freaks" like me, maybe they might understand how it feels to be beaten on a daily basis and they won't do the same. I'd like that. I'd really like that actually. But they are dead, so that leaves me back to square 1. It seems like I have to spend the next 7 years in this place before they kick me out._

 _As I tried to sit up against the wall of my cell I began to wonder what my parents were actually like. Right now to me their faces were a blur, and to be honest if I saw them today, I honestly doubt I would be able to recognise them. In fact, I don't even remember them. I was left to live with the Walrus and Giraffe at 3 years of age, but despite that I still should be able to remember something. But I don't. I don't know what they looked like, I don't know the sound of their voices, I didn't even know if they loved me._

 _That last realisation really hit home, it felt like one of the Pig's haymakers to the stomach. Unwillingly, tears began to fall down my cheeks as I wept in my cell. I guess Oscar Wilde was correct when he claimed that the truth is rarely pure and never simple. And the thing about the truth was that I knew I couldn't do anything about it. I was trapped, literally and figuratively and I didn't see a way out. Shit._

 _After I dried off my tears with my blood covered sleeves, I crawled over to my cot of sorts as I tried to forget about my injuries and fucked up family. Wincing as I clambered in, I sighed before closing my eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly tonight than I had done on any other nights. My luck wasn't that good, it never was. After several hours of lying on the ground in silence, I reluctantly accepted that I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. I began to think about what I was thinking about before about my parents._

 _It was clear that I wasn't going to get anything else useful out of the Walrus or the Giraffe, even if I did, the beating I'd get in return for it probably wouldn't make it worth it. The Pig wasn't going to be any help, whilst he would be easy to manipulate, he still struggled to grasp the concept of obeying simple commands. In fact, he was rather simple minded and would probably attack me before I could say anything. That ruled him out completely._

 _As I wracked my mind, to try and think of people that I knew who could help me, I realised there was literally no one. Figures of authority might know something but I doubt that they would give it to me. They would ask why not ask your relatives or foster parents. I couldn't really say that if I did they would beat me senseless and leave me without food for several days. The police would get involved, and the Walrus would cover it up before sending me to hospital. Actually knowing the Walrus, he'll probably do something that should warrant me going to hospital, but him being a "Fucking wanker" he won't even let me go._

 _The library however seemed to be like a good idea the more that I thought about it. At the library I would be able to use a computer and maybe if I asked someone nicely they might point me in the direction on where I could find public records. It would be a longshot, seeing as I didn't even know their names, but I had to try. I'll probably use the excuse that I am doing research on a family history project and wanted to do it independently. Chances were the adult would think it was cute or something like that and not bat an eyelid. The more that I thought about it, the library was in fact a smashing idea. The Pig and his friends wouldn't be able to play "Harry-hunting" in the library, they'd get kicked out for that. It also made a brilliant place to hide with the library being the last place the Pig would ever go, that and the dentist but he also wasn't particularly fond of that place._

 _As I closed my eyes once more, I made the promise that I would find out who my parents were. That wasn't all. I made a wish that I would be able to do so, and to be able to have the power to truly find out if my parents really loved me. A big ask, but then again I had nothing else to lose._

* * *

Chapter 1- A deal with the Devil

 _"Friendship; A building contract that you sign with laughter and break with tears."- Unknown source_

Friday 1st September 1989; - Jorkins Household

"I'm going to miss you, you know." A small voice said, a hint of wistful sadness present. "I never really got to say thank you."

The man with the name Steven Jorkins blinked as he turned to the source of the voice. A small boy of eleven years of age who had dark messy hair complete with the most striking hazel eyes he had ever seen that were covered with a pair of spectacles, held together by liberal amounts of tape.

"It's nothing, I did what any other person in my position would do." He replied after a small hacking cough.

"Still, what you did me for really changed my life." The boy said quietly, looking down at his feet, he seemed almost embarrassed with himself.

"All I did was give you my late half-sister's books," Steven replied as he walked over to the kitchen where the kettle was beginning to whistle, "I had no use for them anyway. Do you want a cup of tea?"

"No thank you," the boy replied curtly but not impolitely, "I have to go to Kings Cross anything, the train to Hogwarts leaves in a few hours."

"Hogwarts." Steven grumbled as he poured hot water into a cup, "Bertha would never shut up about that place," he mumbled quietly to himself as he went to fetch the milk from the fridge. Despite him mumbling, the boy standing in the hallway heard him as clear as day but chose to not say anything about it.

"Are _they_ going to take you to the station?" Steven asked as he carried the cup out to the sitting room. Both parties knew who he meant when he said "they". Immediately, the small boy's face tensed up before it relaxed into a cold, emotionless mask.

"No, I am to make my own way there." the boy replied, the politeness from his voice vanished. Talking or even mentioning the people that Steven thankfully didn't refer to by name often put the boy in a bad mood.

"I guess I'll be seeing you then." Steven said, as the boy took a deep breath, the mask seemed to evaporate leaving a rather tired looking boy.

"Goodbye Steven," The boy said as he embraced the older man in a slightly awkward hug.

"Take care of yourself Harry." Steven said as the boy smiled up at him before moving to the door.

"I'll send you an owl." the boy named Harry said as he opened the door with one hand, the other hand holding a rather bulky looking suitcase.

The man named Steven Jorkins watched in silence as the boy named Harry Potter waved goodbye and departed from his residence. He stood there in silence for several minutes before walking back to the sitting room to drink his tea.

* * *

2 hours later; Kings Cross, Platform 9 and 3/4.

Harry blinked as he stepped forward onto the platform. He was expecting there to be a lot of people but he wasn't expecting something of this magnitude. All around him were other "Freaks" of all ages and races, carrying owls, cats, brooms and all sorts of magical equipment. He had trailed a wizarding family in order to discover said platform. Some wizards weren't particularly subtle nor were they well informed about what muggles wore. It was rather easy to distinguish the wizards from the muggles. The owls and robes often gave them away, then again it was London and most people probably assumed that there was some cosplay event going on. Taking a tighter grip onto the handle of his trunk, Harry took a deep breath as he lifted it up and made his way through the crowd of excited children with in some cases, tearful parents.

Quickly and quietly, the boy named Harry Potter made his way onto the Hogwarts express where, to his delight, he was able to find an empty compartment. Setting his bag down on the floor, Harry then took out a book from the front pocket and began to read. Every so often he would glance at the battered watch on his wrist, he had acquired the second hand watch several hours ago via the bedroom of the Pig. It wasn't particularly hard to do, nor were the chances of him being discovered for it high.

Several minutes went by as Harry flipped the pages of the book, his eyes reading the words, but he knew that he wasn't focused. Sighing deeply, he folded a page at the corner and closed the book. He then chose to do the next best thing, he chose to look out of the window. His eyes wandered over the platform, watching families of all sizes sending children off to the express with varying degrees of emotion. Harry subconsciously found himself drawn to one small family of three, the boy looked around his age, perhaps a bit older seeing how his robes had a yellow trim as opposed to his own that were plain. Harry watched the boy duck under the arms of his mother as he tried, but failed to evade the embrace from his mother. He watched the cheeks of the brown haired boy flush, even more so when his father embraced him and kissed the top of his head. Harry watched in silence as the parents finally let the boy go onto the train, in fact he kept his eyes on the parents for several seconds, a seething anger rising through him. This came from the realisation that he would never go through this, he would never know the sound of his mother's voice or his father's laugh. He was so focused on staring at the parents that he didn't notice several people entering his apartment.

"Whoa it's a bit cold in here, but do you mind if we sit here." One boy asked politely, with a meek laugh.

Harry turned slowly to look at the boy, he was of average height with mousy brown hair and eyes with rosy cheeks. His robes didn't have a coloured trim as well now that he looked closer, in fact nobody in the compartment had one. He assumed that all 4 of them were first years.

"Sure." Harry said politely, seeing as they were all in his year there was no use or need to aggravate them. That didn't mean he had no trouble with telling them to piss off, as from his old school with the Pig, he was used to being some sort of Pariah. But the Pig wasn't around, hence the need to be said pariah did not exist.

"Cedric Diggory." the same boy introduced himself, offering his hand to the seated boy.

"Harry Potter." Harry replied, choosing to take Cedric's hand. He shook it firmly before turning his attention to the other two.

"I'm Vicky Frobisher, and this is Rodney Bode." Vicky said introducing herself before motioning to Rodney who was standing on her left.

Harry nodded politely before he picked up his book once more and resumed where he had left off. Glancing out of the window, he saw that they had already left the platform. 'Brilliant.' Harry mused to himself as he continued to read the book in front of him on Experimental charms. After several minutes, he looked up to see - doing the same as him, although he didn't seem to be reading a book, he seemed to be reading a set of documents. Cedric and Vicky were meanwhile talking rather animatedly about Quidditch. Blocking them out, Harry turned a page and began to think.

The first time he met Steven Jorkins, the man had instantly recognised that he was a wizard. It wasn't the case that he was one, in fact he was a squib but he had a younger sister who was a witch, Bertha. Bertha had gone missing and was later found dead some time around 1982 after an excursion to Albania. Steven caught him performing a feat of accidental magic in the library, specifically something that Steven coined as 'Apparation'. Harry had discovered a way to teleport himself to a place he knew (it was never far), but it was always useful for escaping the pig's gang when they played 'Harry-hunting.' Steven immediately went to speak to Harry after, having seen Bertha as a child perform the same type of accidental magic. Unfortunately in her case, she had messed up one time and had 'splinched' herself. Steven had assumed that because he could not see any of his parents nearby, that he was muggleborn. He told her Bertha's story and to his amazement, Harry did not seem at all scared or repulsed. He seemed rather excited that there were other people who were just like him and he wasn't just this 'Freak'.

The next day at the library, Harry was amazed to see Steven carrying a small trunk and even more amazed when he learnt that trunk was for him. It contained all of Bertha's Hogwarts books as well as her memoirs from studying there. He quickly got over the fact that he was reading a dead person's diary without her explicit permission, but he remembered that when somebody died, their possessions after a set amount of time went to their family. Technically Steven hadn't given him explicit permission, but he had given him the trunk and told him to make use of it, so consent was implicit in this situation. Reading the diary gave Harry a much needed insight into what Hogwarts was and what living there entailed. The most brilliant thing about the trunk was that it was enchanted, so that it could shrink and grow to normal size at the owner's command. This ultimately convinced Harry that such a thing called magic actually existed.

Bertha was a Hufflepuff, and from reading her rambles, it was clear that she had an affinity for gossip. It led him to wonder if that was a distinctively Hufflepuff trait, but he decided to not dwell on it. After all, he knew exactly which House he would like to go into. Aside from all of her rambles about gossip, Bertha had touched upon one thing that was very applicable to this situation; the people who you meet on the Hogwart's express will likely be your best friends throughout your school career.

Glancing upwards, he saw that Rodney was no longer reading and in fact he looked rather bored sitting there, whilst Cedric and Vicky continued to chat. Harry took this opportunity to study the other members of his compartment. Rodney was a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face, gaunt features and a mop of brown hair. Vicky on the other hand also had brown hair, but that was about where all the similarities ended between the two. For example, her hair had a reddish tinge to it, whilst Rodney's was just a plain brown. One of the most noticeable differences between the two was the sort of aura that they exhibited, with Rodney having this sort of unfaltering gaze that made anyone he looked at uncomfortable, whilst Vicky seemed to be very confident, forward even as well as talkative.

"Harry."

The boy being spoken to blinked twice before he looked towards the source of the voice, Vicky. "Do you have an idea what house you want to go into?" Judging by the slightly irritated look on Rodney's face, it seemed that she had asked him the same question.

"I'm not really fussed, I don't have any preferences." Harry replied simply, subtly avoiding the question, "How about you?"

"I think I would like to be in Gryffindor." Vicky answered boldly.

"Any reasons for that?" Harry asked curiously, from Bertha's journals he had heard what she had written about Gryffindors. From what he had seen of Vicky so far, she sounded like the stereotypical Hufflepuff, but he chose not to say anything about it.

"I have a feeling that Gryffindor will be the right place for me." She answered, as if that was the most straightforward thing in the world.

"I see." Harry said, not at all convinced.

"Besides you never said which one you would like to be in." Vicky probed, Harry instantly felt a bit annoyed by this, but chose to purse his lips.

"I said I didn't have a real preference, I just hope to be put in the house that will help me the most in learning magic." Harry answered, adopting a tone similar to what Vicky had used when she claimed that Gryffindor would be the right place for her.

"A Ravenclaw for sure." Cedric commented, "No prior prejudices about any of the houses, and you seem to have this strong need to learn magic. " He explained perceptively.

This comment didn't slip past Harry's radar, and he noted this piece of information away for future notice. Perhaps the boy was smarter than he initially thought. "So where do you think you will go?" Harry asked back, now quite interested to hear what the mousey haired boy had to say.

"I think maybe Hufflepuff," Cedric admitted, an embarrassed look on his face. "My parents went there and well I think I'd fit in best over there."

"Fair enough." Harry said, pondering whether to attack his logic about someone not being the same as their parents, but he held his tongue, alienating someone so early on wasn't exactly ideal.

"Come on Rodney, everyone here has said what house they think they would be in." Vicky said playfully, nudging the quiet boy in the shoulder.

"He didn't say, you assumed." Rodney retorted, gesturing towards Harry. Harry allowed a small smile to grace his features, by the look of things, this train journey might become pretty interesting.

"Gryffindor?" She asked hopefully. Rodney didn't answer her and stared at her contemptuously for several seconds before she spoke again less enthusiastically, "Hufflepuff?" The stare seemed to intensify in magnitude, but Vicky still didn't seem to be off put by this. "Ravenclaw?" His facial expression soften a bit, but he still didn't speak. "Slytherin?" She asked, a cheeky tone to her voice as if she meant it as a joke. Rodney blinked before sneering slightly.

"Rodney that's not really nice, I mean you should answer her." Cedric said bashfully, trying to defuse the situation.

"If I said that I thought that Slytherin was where I wanted to go, would you be prejudiced and hold it against me?" Rodney asked, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

"That is the most stupid thing I have ever heard." Harry snapped, interrupting whatever _goodness_ that Cedric probably was about to say. "We don't know you, and I personally couldn't care less if you were going to Slytherin. Besides you're not in Slytherin yet, in fact neither of us here are in a house yet. I understand where you are coming from with all the prejudiced opinions about that house, but its stupid to think that being sorted in one house makes you evil or a dark wizard." He explained. "I mean Merlin went there and he sure of hell wasn't evil or dark."

For the first time, a small smile graced Rodney's features. It wasn't a full smile like the ones worn by Cedric or Vicky, but it was a smile nevertheless. "Then I guess we are in agreement." He said calmly.

"How funny is this?" Vicky asked, "4 new students, with us most likely ending up in separate houses."

"We probably wouldn't see each much then." Cedric said, looking a bit put-down by this realisation. "I guess we'll probably be expected to hang around with people from our own house."

"Well I'll speak for myself, and I enjoyed speaking with all of you guys, even if Rodney over there is a bit moody." Vicky said and Harry stifled a smirk with his hand as he heard a yelp of indignation from Rodney as he claimed that he wasn't moody. "In fact if all of you would like to, I'd like to hang out with you guys, all 3 of you, no matter which house we all end up in."

Cedric gave a low whistle at this bold suggestion. "Can't see what's wrong with that and you lot seem to be all alright, I'm in."

"Harry?" Vicky asked, her eyes melting into his as hers widened.

"It's not me who you'll have trouble convincing." He commented as he looked towards a now scowling Rodney.

"Why not?" Rodney asked after several tentative seconds.

"Friends?" Vicky asked, looking at the other three tentatively.

"Friends." The other three repeated, although it had to be said that Cedric was the loudest and most enthusiastic of the trio. It wasn't that he was extremely excited, it was just Harry and Rodney were certainly a bit quieter in that aspect.

The rest of the train journey passed by without further incident, with the four continuing what they were before. Vicky and Cedric talking animatedly, Harry reading his book and Rodney staring out of the window.

"Look there it is." Vicky proclaimed excitedly, pointing at the window. Harry raised his eyebrows before putting down his book and following Vicky's eye-line. There it was, there was no mistaking it. Standing out from the Scottish landscape, despite it being the late afternoon, there was the place known as Hogwarts.

* * *

The four first years exited the train along with the others, but it was clear that the first years stuck up like a sore thumb. There were some who stayed close to older siblings, some like Harry who were fortunate enough to be in a small group, and there were some who just looked completely and utterly lost.

"First Years, over 'ere." Harry blinked as he alongside the other three were marshalled by a rather large man. "In the boats." The man said with far too much cheer and enthusiasm in his voice. Harry had just been reading up on cheering charms in the book he was reading, perhaps this odd man had been affected by one?

Fortunately, the quartet were able to find themselves a small boat and immediately after they had all gotten in, the boat started to move towards the castle. Harry narrowed his eyes at the boat, he had first expected there to be oars or an engine, but it seemed like the boat was moving upon its own accord. It was literally the hollowed out trunk of a tree and by all means it shouldn't be moving given there being no wind and the boat not having a sail. It was then when Harry realised that he was going to a school of magic. From what he had seen of the magical world so far, he realised that it was a good idea to ignore all means of logic that he had accumulated from the muggle world.

The boat reached the shore quickly, although the journey wasn't the smoothest that he had ever experienced. Cedric looked very green around the gills, whilst Rodney was gripping the edges of the boat so hard that his knuckles had turned white, Harry felt a bit queasy himself. Meanwhile Vicky seemed oblivious to what the others were experiencing, and was continuing to talk in the same manner animated manner as before, only this time, her 'partner of sorts' Cedric was no longer keeping pace with her and was just nodding politely at regular intervals. Harry smirked as he watched Vicky catch on to what he was doing before she realised why he was acting like this. His smirk grew in length as he watched Vicky lean in towards the handsome looking boy and whisper something in his ear.

From his horrified expression and him asking "Muggles honestly do that kind of stuff," it made Harry wonder what she had told him. After she pulled away, with an evil smile on her face, Harry raised an eyebrow, silently asking for an explanation for this.

"I was just educating young Cedric over here about something that my family have a massive passion for, skydiving." Vicky explained sweetly, as a puzzled look appeared on Rodney's face.

"It's basically when muggles jump out of an airplane, a giant muggle flying contraception. But they do this without brooms. Crazy right?" Harry answered, hiding his smirk well. Rodney raised his eyebrows in surprise before swiftly moving away as Cedric stuck his head out of the boat and threw up in the water.

"And he says that he wants to play as a seeker in Quidditch." Harry muttered to himself as the boy gratefully accepted a tissue from Vicky.

Rolling his eyes, Harry looked up towards the giant castle, standing there proud and tall, basking in the awe that it received from the numerous first years. Quickly climbing off the boat, the four walked up towards the castle. Looking around them, it seemed that most of the other first years had arrived, some in various degrees of green, it appeared that Cedric wasn't the only person who didn't like the water.

Standing at the front of the group, facing them whilst stood behind a set of tall wooden doors was a tall, black-haired witch who wore emerald-green robes stood there silently. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that she was not someone to cross. Silence filled the air as the witch examined them carefully, before she spoke.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." She said, and at those words, the large wooden doors behind her swung open. Without a second look, the witch turned around and walked through the doors into the hall leaving the first years behind her.

"After you." Harry murmured behind Cedric as he gave him a prod to move him forward. Unknown to those who proceeded to walk through those doors was that this was something they would never forget.

* * *

 **Author's note: One small change I've made in this chapter from canon is that Bertha Jorkins was killed and made into a horcrux sometime before 1981 as opposed to sometime in 1994. Just for clarification, Steven Jorkins (OC) is a squib. End of. Same sort of story with Broderick Bode- what happened to him in 1994/1995, happened much before hand. I.e. He is in St Mungos at the start of this story, with him starting to get better. His story will be explained later. Although it is implied in the books he has a son, the name was never revealed. Thus we gave the son a name, meet Rodney Bobe everyone.**

 **Vicky Frobisher is not an OC, she is in fact in canon, Gryffindor- although the age and background is unspecified, all we know is that she is a dab hand at charms and Quidditch. Fortunately, I can capitalise on it and make her in Cedric's age group, Muggleborn.**

 **Another thing I have just realised is that this story may appear to be similar to Fettuchini's Knowledge is Power. I have read it, and I can honestly say that this fic will be its own. Not every Harry/Fleur fic is another Lie I've lived or Letters or Deprived. It's just a pairing that I think could work for the construct I've built. Flame me for the story all you like, but if you compare me with others I will deliver whats coming for you, in spades.**

 **JoBH**


	2. Chapter 2

Full Circle

Chapter 2- Better be

 _"Faith is not a rational thing, and yet to understand the universe, rationality alone will not give it to us. Our understanding of the universe must transcend the rational."- John Rhys-Davies_

* * *

"Wow." Harry heard Cedric mutter from in front of him, as his awestruck friend stepped into the hall, all previous signs of sickness appeared to have been magically vanished.

Harry rolled his eyes before he followed suit, and to his surprise, he found himself in a similar state of mind. He had now officially set foot into the Hogwart's Great hall for his first time. All around and above him were masses of candles; some placed on pedestals at the side of the hall whilst others seemed to be levitating in mid-air, hovering over the heads of the many students who were all seated at four long wooden tables. Casting his eyes to the other end of the hall, Harry saw another long table where the teachers were sitting. He back to the students and couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated; The hundreds of faces were staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Harry looked upwards once more and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

"Wow indeed." Harry commented quietly to nobody in particular, as he finished his observation of his surroundings, and focused his attention on the teacher who had led them into the hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." The stern looking teacher repeated once more after all of the first years had entered the hall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be Sorted into your houses."

"There are four houses; Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin." She explained calmly as another teacher walked into the room, from another entrance that Harry and others had come from, carrying what looked like a wooden stool and a rather dilapidated old wizard's hat. "My name is Professor McGonagall and I am both the head of Gryffindor house as well as the deputy headmistress. I teach the subject transfiguration here at Hogwarts." She introduced herself politely to the first years. "Thank you Argus." The professor added politely, turning towards the man who put the stool and hat onto the floor before walking away without a comment. It was at that point when Harry felt himself zone out of the speech; the professor was now talking about the qualities of each house and explaining the job of the sorting hat. Harry didn't really feel like he had to listen, he had read both Hogwarts; a history as well as Bertha's journal about this, so he felt confident that he knew roughly what was going on. However he chose to observe the rest of the hall whilst the professor was speaking, and he felt his eyes wander over to the sorting hat that was placed on the stool, with what looked like a smirk on its leather features.

'Bertha was right,' Harry mused to himself, 'That thing really is quite ugly.' He said, as he carefully eyed the tatted piece of cloth placed on the stool.

Turning back to the others, Harry found himself trying hard in order to stifle a laugh that appeared in his throat as he saw Vicky and a couple of other students flinch and gasp loudly when the hat opened his maw and began to speak. Harry watched with mild amusement as the hat began to sing a song about the four houses and subsequently explained that its job was to sort all of the new students. As the hat sang, Harry briefly wondered to himself how the hat was able to come up with a different song each year. Bertha's diary had noted that the hat never repeated a song in her time at Hogwarts and that Professor Dumbledore had once said the same. Harry made a note to himself to find out whether this was true or not, perhaps 'Hogwarts: A history' may have answers. Turning back to the hat, Harry watched the ragged piece of clothing finish its song to a respectful smattering of applause before Professor McGonagall pulled out a long scroll and began reading out names of the first years in alphabetical order. Harry paid little attention to the first couple of students who were sorted before a name caught his attention.

"Bode, Rodney." Harry looked on as the brown haired boy carefully walked up to the stool where the sorting hat was placed on. Harry watched with interest as the boy put the hat on his head once he was seated. For several seconds, Rodney had a calm, neutral look on his face before it morphed into a mask of anger that was quickly replaced by a cold, emotionless expression. Rodney's facial expression remained this way for a couple more minutes, with the creases on the hat seeming to reflect a frown, before the hat opened its mouth and shouted to the hall, "Slytherin!"

Rodney carefully placed the hat back onto the stool and walked off to the Slytherin table, on his face was the same icy mask that he wore before. It seemed that he wasn't particularly happy about his sorting, and as he walked, Harry noticed some students, particular those seated at the Gryffindor table, hiss menacingly at him. Harry narrowed his eyes and watched as Rodney took his seat at the table before turning his attention back to the sorting.

After watching Roger Davies being sorted into Ravenclaw, the name "Diggory, Cedric" was uttered by the transfiguration professor to the Great Hall.

"You're up." Harry muttered to his friend, giving him an encouraging poke in the back to snap him out of the brief state of shock that he had experienced. Cedric walked up to the stool, slower and clearly much more nervously than Rodney had done so. Harry watched closely as the boy quickly sat down and put the hat on his head. Several seconds passed by before Harry watched his friend nod as if it was in agreement with what the hat was saying to him. A few more seconds elapsed before the hat cried out "Hufflepuff!"

With a small smile, Cedric removed the sorting hat from the top of his head and made his way to the Hufflepuff table where he was congratulated by several other students on that table, a relieved look on his face. Harry spared his friend a smile once he caught his eye.

Several more students were sorted before it was Vicky's turn. Harry watched the nervous brown haired girl look back at him before she nervously walked up to the stool. Once the hat was upon her head, Harry watched the muggleborn student quickly close her eyes. "Gryffindor!" The hat screamed after a several tense seconds. A warm round of applause rippled through the Great Hall as Vicky quickly made her way to the table where the 'House of Lions' were seated at.

Harry watched on silently as the Sorting Hat did his job until he heard Professor McGonagall call out "Potter, Harry." With only a raising of an eyebrow at being called upon, Harry quietly stalked over the stool that housed the sorting hat, ignoring the faint murmurs from the other students. Harry carefully lifted the hat up off the stool before seating himself. Then he slowly placed the hat on his head. Immediately Harry felt something unknown enter his head, some sort of foreign presence. Fighting the urge to flinch, Harry steeled himself and sat still as he felt the presence invade his mind.

"Interesting, full of many qualities I see." After hearing this comment, Harry flinched in shock before realising that it was the hat talking to him.

"Oh they cannot hear you, this conversation is between you and me." The hat continued, answering the question before Harry even asked it.

"Wait so you are reading my mind?" Harry asked, a small idea forming in his mind.

"A mind isn't a book to read it is much more complicated than that, but effectively despite the over-generalisation, it is to a certain extent." The hat grumbled in response.

"And I assume that your only job for the year is to conduct this sorting and to write a long?" Harry asked, a gleam in his eye.

"That would be correct." The hat responded tentatively as Harry smiled and filed this piece of information away for later use.

"There's courage, lot's of it, but there is also compassion. Lots of loyalty to those who you hold close to you. But you've also got a sharp mind and plenty of wit." Harry waited patiently as he listened to the hat drone on as it sifted through his memories. "There's a lot of pent up emotion inside of you and the urge to prove yourself. You would do well in Slytherin." The hat advised. "But where should I put you?"

Harry paused at this comment before he asked mentally. "I would like to go to the place that would best help me learn my magic."

"You would do well in any house that you would go to." The hat answered, not directly answering his question. "Gryffindor like your parents?" It asked as Harry glanced over to that table. He quickly managed to seek out Vicky and upon making eye contact, she waved politely at him.

"No I don't think so." Harry said, "I don't see myself as being brave."

"Your memories suggest something else." The hat replied, as Harry realised what memories the hat was looking through.

Harry suddenly felt a rage surge through him at this invasion of his memories. "Not Gryffindor." Harry told the hat adamantly. "I wasn't brave, I just did what I needed to do to survive."

"Perhaps Hufflepuff?" The hat asked and Harry shook his head. Bertha's journals provided an insight into life in Hufflepuff house, and it wasn't really a place that he felt that he would enjoy the most.

"Not Hufflepuff." The hat continued, catching onto his thought process, the intonation suggested that the hat agreed with him. "How about Slytherin?"

"I don't know." Harry thought truthfully. "As I said before, I want to go to the place that will best help me learn my magic. My magic was the gift that got me out of the darkness." He argued assertively.

"Slytherin would very much suit you," The hat replied, as an image was suddenly thrusted to the forefronts of his mind. It was himself, a much older version of himself surrounded by a bunch of other students wearing robes with a green and silver lining, all wearing expressions with varying degrees of awe and amazement. He thought of the feeling to be rather odd, as he looked at what he coined 'future me', from the third person, yet he felt himself experience this giddy rush of what he realised to be the seductive tendrils of power. He looked at the other Harry, realising what the other one had. He seemed to be popular, the one that others looked up to, respected. Everything that he never had. "Is that what you want?" The hat asked, the tone a bit quieter now.

Harry felt ready to say yes to this, as his childhood had dictated how his life was to be lived. If the hat was right and that Slytherin would give him this, why should he stand in his way. But he remembered, that the thing that he never had was parents. It was the promise that he made to himself all those years ago to find a way that he would be able to find out if they really did love him or not that made him who he was.

"I see." The hat said quietly. "It is clear to me that Ravenclaw would suit a mind like yours yet your dream is so ambitious, any Slytherin would be proud to have it." The hat debated. "But where to put you?" It pondered as Harry felt an impulsive want to set fire to this ragged piece of clothing, all wistful pretences gone. Harry then felt the hat leave his mind, and a sudden feeling of relief pass through him. "I will put you where you feel you would best fit in and achieve what you want to achieve." The hat said wistfully before it opened its maw to the heavens. "Ravenclaw!" It called out to the hall as Harry quietly took the hat off his head and strode over the House of the blue and silver. Harry felt a hand clap him on the back as he sat down, and couldn't help but allow himself a small smile. The four of them had now been sorted and were officially students of the Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

 _Sometime in the summer of 1985; Little Whinging_

 _Hushed murmurs fill the air as I walk pass the front of the school, no doubt the 'caring' mothers out there are covering the eyes of their 'precious' young heathens. I probably couldn't blame them really, having caught a glance of my appearance after looking at a reflection of a car window. Dried mud caked on my face, with copious amounts of grit falling out of my messy hair every time I ran my hand through it._

 _"Momma, who is he?" My ears prick up and I watch a boy, perhaps a couple of years younger than me, standing at approximately waist height relative to his mother point at me._

 _'This sound be interesting.' I mused to myself as I continued to walk past, my attention piqued by what would be a response from the mother that I would find extremely humorous._

 _"It's rude to point." I hear her scold, as a small smile unwillingly graces my features. It continues to grow, but I let it as I hear her next few words, "Just stay away from him." It's more of the hesitance of what she says that makes me want to laugh. Their conversations are always fun to listen into, as I hear the latest rumour of what neurological disease that I have, be it ADHD or autism. Last week when I heard one of these mothers speculate that I had autism I dutifully walked over to her and began to poke her hard and relentlessly without saying a word until I was forcibly removed by her husband. I went without food for several nights after that for my act of mischief._

 _Today I took the long way home, as opposed to the normal route that I would take. It was just the case that I didn't feel up for seeing the faces of the Walrus, nor of the Giraffe and especially not of their demented love child; the Pig. I had no doubts on whether or not the Pig had run home crying to the Walrus about something else that I had done._

 _'Spineless coward.' I thought to myself as I silently crept past a group of teenagers huddled in a small group smoking whatever illicit substance that was popular these days. The temptation to join them was large, as then I might even give some substance to the 'bad-boy' or 'rebel' reputation that the Giraffe had preached to anybody who would even listen to her inane ramblings._

 _Soon enough, I ran out of tarmac and reached the place that I was forced to call home. After two tentative knocks on the door, to my surprise the door swung open and a meaty fist grabbed hold of the front of my shirt and forcibly pulled me inside._

 _'Shit.' I thought to myself as I was dragged to the living room where the Giraffe and Pig awaited me. After being forcibly shoved to the ground, I decided to stay there and let them act out whatever demented charade they had planned._

 _"We got a call from school today." The Giraffe began, her lips pursed in what looked like a permanent scowl._

 _'What school?' I bit back the retort that formed itself in my throat as I held my tongue and forced myself to listen to whatever debauchery that the Giraffe was about to utter._

 _"They said that you beat up another boy, Martin Prince." The Giraffe continued._

 _'Did I now?' I thought to myself sarcastically as I glared at the other inhabitants of the room, as I silently wished each and every one of them a painful death as they played out this 'mock trial' of sorts._

 _"They also said that you had the nerve to blame it on Dudders." The Walrus took over, taking a step towards me._

 _At this point in time, I was torn between the feeling of outrage and laughter. I did not 'beat up' someone called Martin Prince. In fact its quite a funny story about what happened. Martin had done something to annoy the Pig and his gang, probably something utterly heinous and despicable such as breathing. I mean how dare he? Then there was me, minding my own business, sitting under a tree whilst reading a book, blocking out the sound of Martin's screams of pain that the adults in charge must have mistaken for laughter._

 _Soon enough the Pig got tired of picking on Martin and moved onto bigger and better things. I found myself unwillingly lifted from my place of quiet and zen before finding myself unceremoniously smashed against a brick wall. This wasn't the first time that they had done something like this, but apparently they had developed what seemed to be a faint amount of cunning and told the adults that I had a fight with Martin and that they all watched him do it. Naturally Martin would agree with the story that the Pig came up with. Then again, he didn't really have a choice. I lie. He had a choice, the spineless coward. And to think I felt sorry for him when I saw him get kicked in the gut by the Pig._

 _"He did mum. It was him." The pig spluttered as he pointed a trembling and pudgy finger towards me. 'Isn't it rude to point?' The voice inside my head chimed as I fought the urge to laugh manically. I mean, I found it rather humorous and ironic that the condemning 'axe of justice' was the oversized finger belonging to a swine._ _It must be said that my self control was rather poor at that time, given that I was only 7 years of age._ _With a bellow that would do his brethren proud, the Pig lunged forward and swung a meaty fist at me. It never connected. I'm not sure if I even saw if properly, but it seemed to stop in mid air, as if some invisible hand and reached out of grabbed it before the Pig went flying backwards, landing in a heap near the sofa._

 _Ignoring the indignant cries from the Giraffe I looked at my hands in amazement. "Holy fucking shit." I swore as I felt a tingling sensation in my fingers, a bit like there was something hidden inside it that begged for release. Before I could do anything else and try out my newfound powers, I felt something heavy smack my temples. Like a sack of bricks I fell to the floor my vision blurry as I realised that it was the Walrus's fist that had hit me. The next few seconds were a blur, I heard what I think was a cry about 'freakishness' before I felt pain, vivid pain. It seemed to be that from that point forward, my screams would become the symphony to which all those of Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey would hear._

 _And that was that. I remember that night well. You see, the Walrus and the Giraffe never treated me well. But would never beat me. They might have shoved me, or slapped me around a couple of times, but they never properly hit me. After today, well lets just leave it at the neighbours were treated to several encores._

* * *

Saturday 2nd September 1989; Ravenclaw Dormitory

Harry quietly eyed the rest of his roommates from the relative cover of his own bed as he reflected back on the events of the previous night, whilst indirectly made him focus on something other than the nightmare that he had just experienced. Out of the four of them, it was rather clear that Marcus Belby was the loudest, with him having boasted at least five times to the rest about how his uncle often went hunting with Ministers of Magic. Harry privately thought the boy to be of an idiot, and one that liked rather too much, the sound of his own voice.

Roger Davis was another who Harry thought to be relatively easy to read; he was quieter than Belby (not much of an achievement) but at the same time he was rather self-assured and confident, particularly when speaking to girls. Again, Harry thought of him as an idiot by the way that he would parrot with Belby. He was easy to read because he was as normal a person as one could be, he could see that he had no dark secrets or past, and he didn't see him to be that good an actor to pull a façade of this quality off. Sometimes people were just normal as trivial as it sounded.

The last of which was Robert Hillert who seemed content to follow Roger and Belby around, and from what Harry had seen of him already; the boy lacked a spine and a voice. As of right now, he was undecided upon who was the bigger idiot; the braggart or the sheep.

Thankfully today was Saturday, so there were no lessons thus it allowed the new students the luxury of the weekend to begin to acquaint themselves with the castle. With no intention in spending more time than necessary in the company of his slumbering roommates, Harry silently crept out of the dorm.

Moving quietly but purposefully, Harry made his way out of the dorm and into the common room without meeting another soul. Then again, it was about half four on a Saturday morning. Extrapolating what he would from the sounds heard in the common room the previous night, Harry found comfort in the knowledge that he wouldn't be bothered. He suddenly stopped at the foot of the stairs, his hand already placed on the bronze door handle when he decided to look back.

Harry felt himself cracking a small smile as he glanced around the room once more. It was a wide, circular room with arched windows hung with blue and bronze silks and a midnight blue carpet covered in stars, which was reflected onto the domed ceiling. But that wasn't the important thing. What really drew his attention was the pale white statue of a figure that stood proudly in the centre of the room. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed that the plaque of the statue read "Rowena Ravenclaw," and on top of her head was a diadem that had the message "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure" gently inscribed onto it.

"Funny that." Harry mused to himself quietly before he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, without sparing the statue a second glance.

Harry spent the next half hour or so, slowly drifting through the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He hadn't encountered much so far, although he did see the Poltergeist Peeves, something Bertha's journals had made him very wary of. With no real wish to encounter the fiendish spirit, Harry turned and wandered off in the opposite direction.

Soon enough, Harry found himself wandering on a walkway with only a thin looking roof to protect its inhabitants from the elements. On his left, Harry could peer over and see the courtyard in all its glory, but it was the sight on his right that he would never forget. With it being around half five, Harry could see dawn slowly breaking onto the grounds of the school. His gaze carried him on an adventure of the place, first starting at the lush green grass with the soft remains of dew on their tips near the greenhouses, before easing past a small hut with a straw roof. It took him over a large clump of trees and green, as natural serenity and tranquillity became the order of the day. All of this seemed to be so beautiful, but at the same time it felt so fragile, that any sound would break and fracture it.

'It was nice whilst it lasted.' Harry thought to himself before he sighed and slowly turned around, he had seen a wispy figure out of corner his peripheral vision stand there for some time. He had hoped that if he didn't initially respond, whoever it was would go away but alas he wasn't that lucky.

Harry supposed that the one that was watching him was beautiful in her appearance, judging by her dark waist-length hair and floor-length cloak, but when he looked closer, he saw that she also looked rather haughty and proud whilst simultaneously maintaining a neutral, if not judgmental look. Relaxing his features into an expression similar to hers, the raven-haired boy remained silent. He knew very well exactly who she was, and that made him rather interested in what she had to say.

He watched on with mild curiosity as a small knowing smirk escaped her lips before it was quickly swallowed up and churned into the familiar mask that she wore before. "It seems to be an odd time for one as young as yourself to be out of bed." She said, her voice light but firm. Quiet but audible. Certainly not gentle, nor coarse, her pronunciation was immaculate yet rigid in some places.

"Perhaps it is." Harry answered back pensively as he turned to look back at the sight that had captivated him before, "Although the way I see it, it seems to be the right time."

"981 years." She replied, her voice not particular loud but Harry heard it as clear as day. "And I can never always find what you call the right time."

"Perhaps you might have found it." Harry interjected calmly as he carefully studied the features of the ghost that floated in front of him, "But you never notice that you have until it has passed."

The ghost paused, and her expression flickered slightly, like a candle in the light before she spoke, "Spoken truly like one who resides in the house of my mothers."

"I've been here twelve hours." Harry deadpanned, "Magic is a wonderful thing but it doesn't give someone anything overnight."

"You seem sceptical." The ghost observed, a frown forming on her veiled features.

"I prefer the term rational." Harry replied bluntly, as he looked out once more to the grounds. "From what I understand of magic its a science, a peculiar type that defies the laws of muggle science. Yet it has laws of its own, and with these laws it has limitations. I've noticed that a lot of people in this world find it easier to pretend that those laws do not exist and keep themselves trapped in a self-perpetuating bubble of ignorance."

"I think that most people in this world will look at your rationality as arrogance." The grey lady said, pursing her lips in a scowl.

"Only the stupid ones." Harry bit back sharply,

"Do you take me, daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, as stupid?" The ghost asked, a flicker of annoyance starting to seep in.

"Yes." Harry deadpanned, recognising that her question was rhetorical but paying no attention to it. "If you expect me to believe that you are supposed to be wise as a result of your mother..."

"The question was rhetorical." The grey lady replied coldly as if she thought that he did not see that it was so. "So you have the argument that magic is not all that great. Convince me."

"Do you want evidence to support my claim?" Harry asked as he raised an eyebrow. When he received no response, he assumed that the answer was given in the positive. "Ok firstly I'm looking straight at it."

"Insolent child." The ghost snapped, as she prepared to herself launch on a rant.

"Didn't you want evidence to support my claim that magic has limitations?" Harry asked rudely, interrupting and amazingly able to silence the ghost. "You are a ghost. You are an imprint on a departed soul that had left this earth. You are still here in this shade like state because you haven't been able to find closure of acceptance of your state. You are a magical being and it certainly hasn't solved your little problem."

"Interesting theory." The ghost said, the urge to scold him waning slightly as she felt oddly curious to listen to what this little boy was about to say.

"Also, you said that you have been dead for 981 years and I don't question that. But surely after all those years you will be able to give me definitive proof whether God exists or not?" Harry asked, a smirk forming on his face.

"What? You can't expect me to answer that." The grey lady exclaimed, "You're asking me to give evidence to the root of all belief!"

"But isn't that a limitation of magic then?" Harry asked confidently. "You claim to be the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw and you have had nearly 1000 years on this planet and yet you cannot give me an answer. Muggles live for much shorter periods of time yet they are at the same stage and they don't even have the knowledge about what happens after death."

The grey lady was silent for a minute, before her expression morphed into a rather pensive one. "You know that there was once someone in this castle who had a saying, one that wasn't well known to many."

"There probably was." Harry interrupted rudely, as he tried to discern why there was such an abrupt change of topic. "Do please continue."

" _Where there's magic, there's always an answer_." The ghost answered, a small smile gracing her features for the first time.

"Funny that." Harry mused quietly to himself as he closed his eyes to think. "Your mother?"

"No." The ghost said calmly, a knowing smile on her face. It was at this point where Harry noticed that the ghost that floated in front of him seemed to be more alive than ever, like her frostiness had suddenly evaporated for some reason. "Its something that you really should find out." And with that parting shot, the ghost floated away down the corridor, leaving the eleven year old standing thoughtfully in her wake.

"Funny that." Harry murmured out loud to nobody in particular before walking away in the opposite direction.

* * *

"How is life in Ravenclaw?"

Harry blinked twice, before turning around to see the familiar face of Cedric as the boy sat down next to him. "It's good." He replied curtly, as he subtly moved over slightly. "There are lots of books and its very quiet. Think of it as a blue library."

Cedric laughed at this before he straightened up and a frown quickly formed on his face. "You've already seen the library?"

"Briefly." Harry replied as he thought back to his wanderings earlier that morning, "How are things in Hufflepuff?" He started to ask politely before he was interrupted by someone sitting down on his opposite side.

"Hey guys."

"Hey Vicky." Cedric greeted cheerfully as Harry slowly turned, briefly stared before blinking and grabbing an apple off the table.

"Where's Rodney?" Vicky then asked, eyes wide as she turned to face Harry.

"Clearly not here." Harry deadpanned before he took a bite out of the apple in his hand.

"Morning." A voice out of nowhere said as a familiar face plopped down on the seat opposite him.

"Lovely." Harry said with faux cheerfulness. "He's like the devil, say his name once and he appears."

"Um Harry what are these people doing here?"

Harry turned around on his seat to see Roger Davis and Marcus Belby standing behind him. Harry blinked before he saw Robert Hillert sulking several metres away, eying the three with a bitter look on his face. "Well some of these people are eating, others are talking, some are doing both." Harry said in the same tone of voice before as he gestured towards Cedric who was chatting animatedly to Vicky whilst also trying to devour a croissant simultaneously. "Naturally something you would expect in a place where people eat breakfast at."

"Why is that Snake here?" Belbly asked, as he not so subtly motioned towards Rodney who nonchalantly smeared butter on a slice of bread opposite them.

"Why are you talking?" Harry asked rudely, disregarding the question asked to him. "Just close your mouth, it smells enough already. You know brushing your teeth helps."

Harry watched with satisfaction as Belby's face reddened to the shade of a tomato. Roger stepped forward and looked like he was about to say something, but then again, going by the uneasy look on his face it was probably something to defuse the situation as opposed to throw fire on it.

'Shame.' Harry thought to himself as he continued to eye Belby who now looked like he was about to explode.

Suddenly the three were interrupted by loud laughing coming from their left. Harry blinked as he turned towards a near hysterical Vicky with Cedric who was currently banging the table with laughter. Letting a smirk grace his features, Harry turned back to the apple in his hand as he wondered whether they were laughing at Belby or if Cedric had made a very good joke. Glancing at the knowing smirk on Bode's face, he was pretty sure what had happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Roger pull Belby away towards the opposite end of the table. Harry sighed when he realised that he probably would have to deal with the repercussions of his little stunt later.

'I'll cross that bridge when I'll get to it.' Harry thought to himself as he took another bite out of the apple in his hand.

"Harry?"

Said boy being talked to blinked twice as he took another bite out of the apple that he was holding.

"Were you listening to what we were saying before?" Vicky asked, her eyes wide open with a wounded puppy-dog expression on her face.

'Please don't cry on me.' Harry thought to himself as he saw the look on her face. 'That would be very bad, very bad indeed.'

"We said that we would all go exploring." Vicky repeated after a small eye roll at his antics.

"Later." Cedric interrupted as Vicky turned to him, a look on her face that screamed 'Why did you interrupt me you stupid person?' "Food first." He said firmly as Rodney nodded sagely.

"I'll drink to that." Harry said humorously as he held up a mock glass in his other hand.

* * *

"Harry?"

The boy being talked to ignored the voice for several seconds as he looked around. "Yeah just a minute Vicky you've found me." Harry said loudly as he examined his surroundings. It seemed to be an ordinary classroom, yet there were no chairs, no tables, just what looked like a mirror at the opposite side of the room. All in all, a terrible place to play hide and seek in.

"Its Cedric!" An indignant voice shouted from the other side of the door, but Harry pushed it to the corners of his mind, said game of hide and seek suddenly becoming completely irrelevant to him.

"What is this?" Harry mused out loud, as he stared at the object in front of him, recognising immediately that it was a mirror, but there was something about it that seemed a bit off...

"I'm coming in." Once again, Harry paid no attention to the voice, as he took another step forward to inspect the mirror. Immediately as he did so, he fell backwards, seemingly in shock by what he just seen.

Picking himself back up to his feet, Harry carefully walked forward to the object once more.

"Harry what the hell man?" A voice said from behind him before a prod on the shoulder joined it.

"Where there's magic, there's always an answer." Harry whispered to himself, ignoring the contact as he saw clearly the image that was on the mirror. "The ghost of Helena Ravenclaw, eat your bloody heart out." He murmured as the figures in the mirror stared back out at him.

* * *

 **Author's note: A couple of things to iron out.**

 **Bode and Harry are made to contrast each other, with both of them being 'hat-ties'. So naturally I made a Claw-ish Slytherin and a Ravenclaw with Slytherin tendencies, in order to fully separate the two. I could have easily have put the two in the same house but felt like separating them would be the best idea. Don't put Bode down to be a "Marty-Stu" or a some kind of predictable, overused OC.**

 **It's also important that there is meant to be a big difference between Riddle and Harry. I know the two are meant to be contrasted in Canon but here there is another important divergence made in their characters, one that will be made obvious later on in the story. Sorry to all those who wanted to see a Dark Lord Potter. (Then again, I wouldn't call him 'light' either, he really just does not give a fuck about what other people think about him.)**

 **Harry might seem intellectually advanced for his age (overly so in some instances), but this is key to the plot. Think of it being as a one-in-a-generation type thing.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter otherwise I would have included strippers of some sort in the books and the movies. You can see there are no strippers in either; therefore I do not own Harry Potter.**

 **Like always, do please review this story- that's one sure-fire way to make sure this story actually improves in quality.**

 **Apologies for the wait in updates. I wanted to plan out some other chapters before I wrote this one. Do expect the pace of the story to pick up sooner rather than later.**

 **JoBR.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3- Smoke and Mirrors**

 _"The true is rarely pure and never simple." Oscar Wilde_

* * *

The beginning of September was a specific period whereby inhabitants of the Northern Hemisphere would recognise as being the start of the school year. Connotations of the commencement of term often varied with the person, but the consensus was that it was a vibrant time, full of youthful exuberance and cheer. Therefore, the soft tranquillity of the classroom provided a stark contrast and an exception to this rule.

"Harry."

Harry heard his name being called, but it seemed to be far off in the distance, decidedly unimportant. This was followed by a firm prod to his shoulder which he batted away, keeping his eyes fixed upon the sight in front of him.

Pushing his lips out, Harry made a quiet shushing sound, hoping that it would marginalise the distracting influence.

It did. The two first years stood in complete and utter silence, unable to avert the gaze of their eyes away from the magical object.

"Cedric? Harry?" Harry heard more voices shout, as they were accompanied by a small thunder of footsteps. Biting back a vile curse aimed at these 'distractions', Harry was pleasantly surprised when they were suddenly silenced.

Seconds effortlessly morphed into minutes and after what seemed to be an eternity, a quiet voice broke the serene silence which had settled over the room like snow on Christmas day.

"What is this room?"

The interrogative seemed to contain some form of magical command given its success of snapping Harry out of his self-induced daze.

"Wicked." Another voice bit in before Harry could answer the initial question.

"The Mirror of Erised." Harry read aloud, articulating every phoneme slowly with the precision of a trained surgeon.

"Desire." Another voice which Harry recognised to be Cedric's, whispered quietly, but to every inhabitant of the room, they heard him as loud and clearly as day.

"What do you see Harry?" Vicky asked carefully as she averted her gaze away from the magical object.

"I see..." Harry started, his voice cracked and without its usual strength. It appeared to be little more than a croak, before he caught himself and stopped to regain his composure. "I see myself in the mirror, talking with my parents." He admitted quietly, his voice regaining its usual articulate tone, but with a deep sadness that no bitter smile could hide.

"Your parents?" Vicky asked, her voice coated with the blissful naivety that only a child could possess, "But can't you owl them or even go home to see them?"

Wincing audibly at Vicky's words, Harry let his eyes shut for several seconds, the first time which he willingly removed his sight from the mirror. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards her, a small, forced smile on his features as he yearned to not cry in front of the young Gryffindor.

"If only it could be that simple." He replied softly as he attempted to suppress the hollow pain in his chest that simply refused to be ignored.

"I see something else." Cedric began rather loudly, making eye contact with Harry. The raven-haired boy silently thanked the Hufflepuff for the subject change with a small appreciative nod.

"I see myself in several places. A desert, a jungle and a cave. But I'm not me, I don't think. I'm taller. Maybe I'm looking at my older self. Maybe what I desire most of all is grow up and travel?" He wondered out-loud, keeping his gaze focused on the mirror.

"What about you Vicky?" Cedric asked politely, snapping back to reality and away from his day-dream.

"I don't know really." Vicky answered quietly. "The shapes keep on changing, they are blurry and I can't really see them."

"Maybe it is because you don't know what you truly desire." Rodney interrupted not impolitely. "After all, that's what I see and it's true; I don't actually know what I want. And I'd be damned if I let a mirror decide that for me."

"10 points to Slytherin for an answer so perceptive, those much older and wiser would covet." The four first years turned in shock at the second interruption. At the door stood the elderly headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, dressed in his ever so bright and colourful robes. "I was meaning to move the mirror at some point I must confess." The headmaster admitted with a small smile, abate a rather forced one.

Recognising that this was a cue to leave, Rodney moved towards the door before he stopped and mustered up all his courage to ask. "Professor, what do you see when you look in the mirror?"

Harry watched on with interest as the Professor's gaze darkened considerably for a half second before returning to his bubbly expression. "I see myself holding socks. Warm wholly socks. One can never have too many socks." Keeping his eye trained on the headmaster, Harry glanced at his classmates who were all wearing expressions in varying degrees of shock. He didn't miss the forced smile on the features of the professor.

The four watched as the headmaster withdraw his wand before swishing it nonchalantly at the mirror which vanished instantly.

"Professor, at some point, may I please borrow the sorting hat?" Harry asked, remembering the conversation that he had earlier with the hat.

"If the hat allows you to do so then you may." Dumbledore replied, a small smile on his face. "May I inquire why you would like to speak to the hat?"

"Well I've read up about pensieves, but they are rare and they require you to have a specific memory. The sorting hat said that it could read my mind and I thought I could use it as some sort of pass to go through my mind and find the answers that I seek." Harry explained, casting his eyes back to the mirror. He turned back to the Headmaster and once again, the dark expression had returned. But this time it seemed to be more troubled than dark.

"You wish to rediscover a memory that you have forgotten." Dumbledore stated, his voice devoid of all cheer and of a sobering solemnness.

"Yes sir." Harry answered not missing the change in tone from the elderly headmaster. "You see, I don't remember anything about my parents. I lost them when I was three years old and I should be able to remember them but I can't."

"The mind is a fickle creature my boy." The headmaster replied after several tentative seconds.

Harry did not miss the flinch that the headmaster made and attempted to hide in response to his previous answer. "It is dangerous, manipulative and has led many a man to the darkness which lies inside. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do?"

"I have to do this." Harry replied, making direct eye contact with the elderly wizard, emerald green eyes melting into cerulean, as he processed the implications of what the headmaster said.

Several seconds passed whereby nobody spoke before Dumbledore sighed and for once the headmaster looked all of his hundred plus years. "If I tell you no then if you're anything like your parents you will find a way to do it yourself." The headmaster pondered out loud.

"I must warn you that the mind is not a toy, or something which can simply be played with. If only it was." He added wistfully before snapping back to the topic on hand "I'd rather let you find the answers in a controlled environment than let you try it on your own and potentially endanger your own health."

"Come to my office tomorrow evening at 8 o'clock, after dinner," Dumbledore spoke as he turned to leave. "If you change your mind, then I will think of you as no better or worse a person Harry." And with those parting words, the elderly headmaster strode out of the room, leaving the four first years behind, all in varying stages of shock and awe at his decision.

* * *

Harry bit back a shiver as a slight draft flew through the room. He reminded himself that it was the dungeons of the castle, and it was expected to be cold. Moreover, he assumed that the classroom would be at a certain temperature to help preserve the ingredients which the students would use.

A little bit cold he could take, after all it was hardly any worse than a night spent bleeding in the cupboard under the stairs. Relaxing his shoulders, Harry waited with baited anticipation as the professor entered the classroom.

Naturally with it being the first class of the year, the professor took a rollcall to record attendance.

"Mr Potter." A deep voice drawled, "How peculiar is it that which you are a member of the House of the wise."

"Perhaps you should take it up with the Sorting hat professor." A light naïve voice responded eliciting a visible wince from every other member of the room as the Potions master turned his attention to the source of the interruption.

"Miss Frobisher," The Head of Slytherin began with a small sneer, "5 points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn." He finished curtly, leading to a murmur of moans from the Gryffindor contingent.

"Silence." The potions master demanded, the suddenness of the command eliciting the desired effect. "Every year, every damned year I have to teach the same group of dunderheads who fail to understand that Potions is an art." The man snapped, venom dripping with every word.

"You are all here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. There will be _no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class_. As such, I do not expect many of you to appreciate the beauty of the potion making. I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.1" He finished, silence following his monologue.

"Potter." The head of Slytherin snapped, shattering the silence like a hammer on a glass ceiling. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"A sleeping potion commonly known as the Draught of Living Death." Harry replied, mindful to keep the tone of his voice even.

"Lucky guess." Snape snapped aggressively, "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar."

"A stomach of a goat." Harry replied with a slight narrow of his eyes.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" The professor bit back, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. This was not missed by the Potter scion.

"The two are the same plant and go by the name of aconite." Harry replied curtly, focusing his eyes into the dark pits which were his professors'.

Several seconds of silence passed where Harry absentmindedly wondered if the Professor was going to erupt in a fit of rage, before he watched the faintest of smirks emerge on the face of the Head of Slytherin as the potions matter suddenly calmed. This was also not missed by Harry and unnerved him deeply. He preferred people who didn't like him to either be angry or indifferent, anger made them predictable and well indifference meant that they didn't interact with him. Both of those states suited him fine, but the dramatic change in persona from Snape did not bode well with Harry. He willed to not let this show on his face, as he stared deeply into the professor's eyes.

"Adequate response." The Professor remarked with a cool calculating gaze, "Now why aren't the rest of you writing this down." He snapped harshly in the face of a poor, unsuspecting Gryffindor.

' _He changes direction quickly_.' Harry remarked to himself, as he attempted to hide a smirk at watching the Gryffindor's meek squeak of fright.

The rest of the class went by without incident, although Harry did witness a small explosion perpetrated by a pair of Gryffindor twins. Harry watched with mild amusement as the potions professor handed the pair of them detention as they hauled each other to the hospital wing to get rid of the large boils which had appeared on their skin.

'Perhaps they should keep them', Harry thought to himself, the brilliant colour of pus really brought out the flaming orange that was their hair.

Shifting his focus back to his potion, Harry peered closer as he observed the colour of the broth blend into the desired shade of indigo. As he did so, he could see the Potions professor look intently at him, a forcefully neutral expression on his face. Harry chose to ignore this as he began to carefully decanter a sample of his work into a vial.

"An adequate attempt Potter." The head of Slytherin responded as Harry handed him what he knew to be a perfectly brewed potion.

"Thank you, sir." Harry replied curtly, making sure that his tone was as neutral as possible, before he quickly left the dungeon, having no intention of spending any more time in the cold dungeon.

* * *

The head of Slytherin watched with baited breath as the students of his last class left the room before he strode over to his office. To anyone who was watching, it seemed rather odd as whilst the Potions master always seemed to have long strides, he always walked with purpose, composure and confidence. Today it seemed that the man was hurried, and not far off from breaking out into a full-blooded sprint.

Once within the safeties of his office, Severus Snape released a tired breath as he wandlessly summoned a bottle, one of Ogden's finest Firewhiskey. Absentmindedly, with his left hand he conjured a small crystal glass before pouring a healthy amount of whisky in, downing it before refilling, oblivious or rather uncaring to the excess alcohol that spilled out onto the carpet.

Severus closed his eyes as he felt the familiar burn in his throat from the alcoholic drink. Setting the bottle down onto his desk, he sat down and waved his right hand over the centre of the desk. Almost immediately, the dark wood began to shift and slowly, but surely, a wooden box, in a shade darker than the desk emerged.

"Open Sesame." He muttered under his breath as he placed his index finger onto the centre of the box, feeling a small sense of amusement of the phrase. 'Lily would have liked it. Lily would have...'

Severus immediately stopped, and ran through a quick occlumency exercise to reign in the raging beast that were his emotions. But that didn't help.

"Lily." Severus said softly as he stared at the dark stone that had appeared on his desk in front of him. Hands trembling, Severus Snape reached for the stone and picked it up, ignoring the cold sensation of it.

"Forgive me Lily." Severus whispered to himself as he turned over the stone, once in his palm. He prepared himself to turn it over once more before he stopped.

'What if she doesn't want to see me.' Severus wondered, thinking back onto the lesson that he had just taught, the feelings of guilt prickling his heart as he stared at the stone in the helm of his palm.

With a deranged, feral look on his face, eyes darting between the two objects on the desk, the head of Slytherin made his choice.

* * *

"I see that there is nothing that I can say which can change your mind." Dumbledore remarked, a slight frown marring his weathered features.

"You don't seem to approve of my decision headmaster," Harry observed not impolitely, as he stood patiently in the doorway of the sorcerer's office.

"It does not matter what I think." The aged wizard replied stoically, "Hogwarts is and always will be a free institution where students are given the freedom of choice. I am first and foremost a teacher and us teachers, we have jobs or rather duties which are to advise and more importantly to protect the students, in the interests of their safety. But you have made your choice." The headmaster stated in mild resignation before motioning towards his desk where Harry could see the dilapidated, creased magical object most commonly known as the Sorting Hat.

"I do believe it is a time for me to take a break from paperwork and retire to my personal quarters. Perhaps a break of 15 minutes should do." The headmaster mused out loud as he strode confidently out of the room.

"Ah Mr Potter." The Sorting hat remarked as Harry warily approached the object on Dumbledore's desk. "Back again so soon?"

"It seems to be the case." Harry replied with caution etched in his voice. "I would like to ask you for a personal favour."

"If it is in my power, I will endeavour to grant it." The hat answered calmly, the wrinkles where its eyes should be squeezing tighter as if it were squinting. "I don't do re-sortings by the way. You're not the first or last person to have asked me that, although I did always feel you were best suited to Slytherin."

"It's not about my sorting." Harry responded, an edge of irritation seeping into his voice. "It's about, it's about my mind." He answered, a fraction of desperation emerging, betraying his young age.

"I assume that you would like me to look inside?" The hat asked, with what Harry detected was a hint of amusement.

"If I may?" Harry asked not impolitely, as he extended his left hand towards the desk.

"Oh, do go on Mr Potter." The hat replied calmly, in what seemed to be a sarcastic drawl. Harry noticed this and paused as he observed the hat, its creases morphed into what appeared to be a smirk, one reminiscent of a starved cat which had cornered a family of nice. Harry decided very quickly that he did not like this expression and wisely chose to ignore it as he carefully placed the hat on top of his head.

Several seconds passed by in silence as Harry felt the hat sift through his thoughts, leaving a dull pain in his head "Hmm. This is curious, very curious indeed." The hat remarked nonchalantly. "You remember nothing of your parents, and you want to see if the memories are embedded in your subconscious."

"I would not have phrased it that way, but yes that is the gist of it." Harry replied carefully, keeping the tone of voice neutral.

"Put me onto the desk please." The hat asked suddenly, and Harry obliged the request of the magical object, abate rather suspiciously.

The hat waited till it was placed on the headmaster's desk before it chose to speak, its features morphed into a more sombre expression. "This was not the first time whereby someone has asked me to undertake a task like this."

A gripping silence enveloped the room as Harry waited anxiously for the hat's decision, his fingernails beginning to grip the edges of his seat.

"You will not receive the answers that you seek today Mr Potter." The hat answered, the smirk from before returning. "However, that does not mean you will not receive these answers, nor does it mean that I do not have those answers."

It was at that point in time where Harry felt a sudden urge to whip out his wand and set the damned hat on fire. He knew the incantation, 'incendio' was always a spell he wanted to try out, plus he would definitively have the intent required to set something alight. His pyromaniac tendencies were put on hold by the hat's next sentence.

"What are your ambitions Mr Potter?" The hat asked carefully.

"You know what my ambitions are, you have seen my memories." Harry bit back, rather irate by the sudden change in conversation.

"Humour me."

"Fine, I want to be able to comprehensively understand magic and to be able to map out its boundaries and limitations." Harry replied, doing his best to hide the hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Good good." The hat responded. "Now do you think all humans have magic or not?"

Opening his mouth to respond "No", Harry suddenly stopped as a thought wandered into his mind. The obvious answer to that question was no, but why would the hat have asked that? The reasoning behind that would be that the damned hat expected him to say yes. Harry furiously wracked his brain for an answer to justify why all humans would have magic but found that he has no idea.

"Honestly? I don't honestly know." Harry replied tentatively, the urge to act on his pyromaniac tendencies returning upon viewing the smirk on the hat's face widen.

"I'd be surprised if you really did." The hat retorted, a brief chuckle emerging from its features. "I'm sure every student and professor and being in this castle could give an example of humans not having magic."

"Muggles." Harry replied, the term rolling off his tongue with measured disgust.

"But could you prove it?" The hat challenged.

"N-" Harry stopped himself and thought for a second. "So, you think all humans including muggles have magic?"

"I doesn't matter what I think, I'm simply just a hat." The Sorting Hat replied confidently. "I'll cut you a deal, I want two things. If by the end of this year, you can provide me with a definitive answer to this question, I'll grant your request. I'll give you the answers that you seek."

Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously at this but chose to not comment upon this.

"That's just one thing." Harry responded curtly, choosing not to voice his second question.

"Oh yes, this is relatively simple compared to the other thing. I want you to prepare a cauldron of a fire-proofing draught."

Caught off balance by this request, Harry frowned. "I'm sorry what?"

"I recognised the look in your eyes when I told you that I wasn't going to give you the answers today. Do you know how many people have tried to set me on fire?" The hat asked, a small laugh escaping its lips.

Harry chose to leave the question as being rhetorical, simply deciding to narrow his eyes at the hat, unamused.

"I watched your parts of your potions lesson, you're clearly competent enough to brew one. The most effective recipe that I know should be in your third-year book."

"I'm not in third-year." Harry bit back, deciding that he may as well act a brat to the infuriating hat.

"I know." The hat retorted. "You're supposed to investigate whether all humans have magic or not and can't find a single book."

"What's stopping me from tampering with the draught so that it's faulty, better yet why don't I set you on fire now?" He asked irritably.

"I do hold the answers which you seek and prefer to part with them unscorched." The hat responded.

He was fully aware that he had been completely and utterly played by a hat. A bloody hat. But the hat promised something which he could not get elsewhere; answers. To Harry, that meant everything

"Bastard." Harry responded, "consider it done." He added before standing up and leaving the headmaster's office, a renewed purpose in his heart.

* * *

[1] Rowling, J. K., and Mary GrandPré. 1998. _Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone_.

Happy new year to everybody! This update hopefully should be the first of many. Previously I had finished about 3/4 of the story and was planning to post the updates every 3/4 weeks, but my computer broke and I lost everything, including my motivation to start again.

Thus, to finish this story will be my new years resolution.

In response to a PM i received a while back, the Harry/Fleur interaction will occur later on in the story. I imagine that the interactions between the characters would hold more nuance at a slighter older age. As a writer, if you focus the story on the pairing, it is important to make the reader want to fall in love themselves with the characters. As a result, I wish for Harry to meet Fleur when he is slightly older and a more developed character.

Reviews are welcomed as always

jobh


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4- Control and Chaos**

 _"Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers"-_ Voltaire

* * *

The library was a reclusive place, habituated by students of all years at Hogwarts. However, an observant outsider would note that the majority of the students which currently resided in the library shared the same house affiliation, not doing anything to disprove any common stereotypes about that particular house.

Therefore, it was no surprise to see Harry Potter, a new member of the house of the Ravens in the, working alone at a table located at the back of the library. Scratching his jaw absentmindedly with the hand not currently clutching his quill, the raven-haired first year cast his gaze back to the sheets of parchment scattered sporadically across the worktop. On these sheets of parchment were headings such as 'The sorting hat', 'muggles having magic?' and 'how to tamper with a fire-proofing draught' containing various scribbles, most of which were messily crossed out.

With a small inarticulate cry of frustration, Harry ripped out another sheet of parchment, a fresh piece as he wracked his brain for ideas on how to change his thought process. Several minutes of silent contemplation passed as Harry began to mentally process various methods which he could undertake to complete this task when it hit him.

The Sorting Hat was the one who set this task. The Sorting Hat worked (if that was the right word to describe its role) at Hogwarts, which was a school. By extension, from that logic, it could be said that the hat worked as an educator much like the rest of the staff at Hogwarts. Thinking back to a primary school science lesson where the teacher asked the class to prove/disprove the existence of gravity (through the process of experimentation), Harry smiled as he recognised parallels between the situations.

The hypothesis that the Sorting Hat had eluded to was that 'muggles had magic.' ' _A hypothesis must be falsifiable_.' Harry recalled, as an image of an old muggle psychology textbook which he had read flashed through his mind. Harry then paused as he replayed the conversation which he had with the hat. The Hat had certainly eluded to the idea of muggles having magic, but there was an area of ambiguity in the object's answer. Mindful that the Hat was capable of manipulation, as demonstrated by their exchange in the headmaster's office, Harry picked up the quill and wrote 'beware of theory induced bias,' and 'be wary of manipulative magical objects' below the heading 'hypothesis.'

Satisfied that he had made apparent what he needed to be wary of, Harry then moved on to working out what should his hypothesis be. 'Do muggles have magic?' ended up being his final answer, given his reasoning that the answer the question was closed (a yes/no question.) Harry then moved on to finding out how he would test if muggles had magic or not. Several minutes passed by as Harry realised that the only way he could answer that question would be if he could define what magic was, something which he knew that he could not properly articulate.

Doubtful that he would find out the answers from a textbook (although it wouldn't be without value to identify a textbook's definition to see what a commonly accepted definition of what magic was), it would probably be a question which he had to ask to a professor. Remembering a conversation, he heard in passing from his dorm mates concerning an individual meeting with their Head of House, Professor Flitwick, Harry decided to make a small note of this to ask him.

That done, Harry frowned as he returned to the main sheet of parchment in front of him. Whilst he had formulated a plan of action to tackle that particular problem, it wasn't immediate in that he had no intention of looking for a textbook to explain what magic was at this current time and that his meeting with Professor Flitwick would not be another week or so. Running his eye over the other sheets of parchment, Harry noticed a common occurrence whereby the theme of the 'sorting hat' was rather prominent.

Identifying that it was the notion of focusing on the 'sorting hat' itself which was what led to him formulating a hypothesis and questions into what magic was, Harry decided he would draw his attention back to the magical object. Then the thought hit him, 'how did the hat draw the conclusion that muggles had magic?' Of course, the hat could have simply plucked the idea out of thin air, but it was unlikely given that their exchange seemed to be rather premeditated in that the hat had held this idea for a while and had waited until a sucker (i.e. someone like Harry) needed something from the hat so that he could barter the favour in exchange for testing the theory.

Picking up the quill, Harry wrote slowly and very deliberately 'how did the hat come up with this theory?' onto the middle of parchment before circling it. The next few minutes were spent creating a mini spider-diagram as Harry attempted to map out how the hat could have come up with the theory.

Harry concluded after the parchment was completely covered in scribbles legible to only its maker that the hat's main inputs (or influences) were students. It was after all the hat's job to look through a group of 40 plus first years every year for the last nine hundred years. Moreover, Harry suspected that the population might have been higher previously given the long-term slowdown or slump of birth rates and family sizes in Britain. Furthermore, Harry recalled the speed at which the hat could look through his memories and ability for the hat to process his deepest ambitions in two brief encounters.

Whilst the hat had in theory, looked through the minds of virtually every witch or wizard in the country for the last few centuries, there was a small problem. Looking through the mind of wizards such as Merlin or Albus Dumbledore might have been useful at their prime, the hat only saw them at age 11.

Harry suddenly paused as a rather sobering thought appeared in his mind. If the hat had seen the mind of every single witch/wizard, in theory the hat would have read the minds of murderers, rapists and other terrible people. Mindful that Britain was still in its recovery phase from what some dubbed the 'blood war', Harry felt a pang of pity for the hat. Suddenly he felt that his 'bastard' comment was somewhat uncalled for, given the magnitude of the job that the hat had to do. Shaking his head to rid himself of any niggling feelings of guilt, Harry ruthlessly focused his mind back onto the topic at hand; the influences of the hat that weren't students.

The most obvious influence of the hat would most likely be the headmaster/headmistress of Hogwarts. Harry knew from experience that the hat resided in the headmaster's office, perhaps given its sentience, acted as a faux advisor as such to the headmaster. Whilst Dumbledore looked to have been headmaster for quite a while, Harry wasn't oblivious or naïve to believe that he was the only headmaster that Hogwarts ever had. The man looked hundred and fifty (give or take ten years), not nine-hundred. Therefore, Dumbledore would have had predecessors, something which Harry could research, rather easily as well. Smiling to himself as a thought popped into his mind, it was of a somewhat grateful convenience that there was a certain source where he could find out both the history of headmasters of Hogwarts and the Sorting Hat.

Harry found himself several minutes later examining one of many bookshelves in the library before his hand suddenly shot out and pulled out a rather old tome, with a battered, worn cover. Trying and failing to hide a smirk, Harry tucked the book under his arm, the title of the book clearly visible to any onlooker as he made his way out of the library, he had no intention of spending any more time cooped indoors on a day like this. Perhaps a nice stroll out to the grounds where he could read the book in peace was on the cards.

* * *

Harry watched in respectful silence as the Transfiguration Professor lectured the class on the spell which they were due to learn. Keeping his eyes glued to the front of the classroom, Harry let his concentration wander slightly. He had learnt the spell previously and was confident on his ability to perform the spell. But the professor, Minerva McGonagall was the deputy head of Hogwarts, thus it would be tactful to be covert in his daydreaming as opposed to two of his classmates; Isobel and Maria he believed their names to be who were passing notes back and forth at a rather frantic pace.

"Miss MacDougal and Miss Glossop, is there anything you two would like to share with the class regarding Gawp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration?" Harry hid a smirk as he watched the two Ravenclaw students faces flush to the point that their faces reminded Harry of overripened tomatoes.

"Now as I was saying, the incantation for this spell is _cimexfors_."[1] The proud Head of Gryffindor stated, "Would any person like to volunteer to perform the spell?"

Naturally, almost all of the hands in the room went up from the Ravenclaw contingent. Harry noted that the two girls who had been called out were amongst them, their blushes still present. Deciding that he would prefer to watch and perform the spell when everyone's attention was not on him, Harry kept his hand down. He watched on silently with mild curiosity as the professor picked Cedric, surprisingly he was the only non-Ravenclaw to volunteer for this task.

'It would have been more entertaining if one of the girls from before were asked.' Harry mused to himself, confident that neither of the girls would be able to perform the spell and that they only volunteered in an attempt to save face with the Professor.

The class watched in silence as Cedric made his way to the front of the class and slowly withdrew his wand. Carefully, he tapped the beetle on the desk in front of him, making sure that his pronunciation was as clear and articulate as possible.

To his relief and delight, the beetle suddenly morphed into a black button.

"Very good Mr Diggory, 5 points to Hufflepuff," the transfiguration Professor said, a smile on her face, "Could you please tell the class what you were thinking when you performed the spell?"

"Um I focused upon how I wanted the beetle to transform into the button and making sure that the incantation was perfect."

"Excellent Mr Diggory." Professor McGonagall said, "You may take a seat." She waited until the Hufflepuff had returned to his seat before continuing. "How many of the class are familiar with the muggle sport golf?"

Approximately a third of the class's hands went up, Harry's included at this question.

"And how many of you are familiar with Quidditch?"

Harry noted that all of the hands which were not previously up were now up.

"Good good." The Transfiguration Professor remarked. "Now the principle is the same in both golf and the beater's role in Quidditch. In both sports, it is important to be physically strong so that you have the power to hit the ball or bludger where you want them to go. However, it is equally as important to be able to have proper technique, otherwise you could have all the strength in the world, but your accuracy would be low and your strikes inefficient." She paused, making sure that her words were received by the class before continuing.

"We apply this analogy to transfiguration, where the wand movement and incantation are the technique, whilst intent is the power generated." Professor McGonagall explained in a matter-as-fact tone.

"Later on, in your time at Hogwarts, you will hear the term 'intent-based magics' being used to coin Transfiguration and other subjects which you will study. This is because it is the intent or rather the imagination of the caster which allows them to display finesse, something which is required of more complicated transfigurations." Drawing out her wand, she gently tapped another beetle on the desk, making clear the incantation as she performed the spell.

Harry watched as she held the newly transfigured button up against Cedric's attempt. It was apparent that the professor's button was more clearly defined, whilst Cedric's button was beginning to wriggle as if the spell was losing its effect.

"Now, I would like all of you to try the spell. Remember that whilst both intent and technique are important, do not attempt to sacrifice one for another." The Head of Gryffindor instructed sternly.

"Cimexfors." Harry muttered as he performed the spell. To his expectation, a newly transfigured ebony coloured button lay in the palm of his hand.

"Excellent Mr Potter," The transfiguration professor praised before her attention was diverted by an occurrence at the other side of the room. It had appeared that Harry's prediction from earlier had come true and one the girls, Isobel had failed to perform the spell and to his amusement, a foul, viscous grey smoke began to emerge from her wand.[2]

"Class please turn your attention to Miss MacDougal who has performed an unbalanced spell where the intent is strong but the technique is wayward." Professor McGonagall commented not impolitely as she silently vanished the foul-smelling grey smoke. "Miss MacDougal, could you please attempt to perform the spell again, but this time could you not touch the beetle."

"Cimexfors." The young Ravenclaw uttered, before the Head of Gryffindor stopped her, a half-smile on her face.

"Try to emphasis the first sound. If it makes it easier, imagine that the sound is the sound in the muggle practice Tai Chi." The Professor advised, before instructing her to perform the incantation on the beetle. To her delight and to the disappointment of the class, no thick grey smoke emerged from her wand, instead, in her hand lay a newly transfigured button.

"Very good Miss MacDougal," The Professor praised as the bell to end class was heard, before she shortly dismissed the cohort.

Quietly and carefully, Harry packed away his belongings and made his way out of the classroom, where his housemates were currently dispersed. He imagined that he had enough time to go to the Ravenclaw tower to drop his bag off before lunch. His thoughts were disturbed by a meow from a rather large tabby cat. Wary of the size of the cat, Harry chose not to pet it and instead began his trip to his dorm.

To his amusement, he ran into his dormmates, one of which was clearly trying to prove his proficiency of the cimexfors spell. Seeing that this would be an amusing, if not, curious spectacle, Harry decided that he would stay a bit and watch.

"Where did you get a beetle from Robert?" Another one of the first years, Maria, asked tentatively.

With what Robert thought to be a charming smile, he simply retorted, "Nicked it from McGonagall's class, figured that it's just a beetle, I can borrow it to practice."

"Cimexfors." He incantated confidently. Harry watched on with mild pleasure as the spell backfired much like Isobel's spell had done, with a viscous dark grey smoke coming out of his wand.

"Magic in the corridors." A rough voice crooned, as the smoke began to disperse. "Detention." The wielder of the voice snapped.

"He was only trying to get rid of a beetle, the spell simply backfired." Roger intervened, hoping to save his dormmate from detention.

"Detention to you as well." The man with a hunched back snapped as he stalked off, tabby cat following him.

"Who was he?" Maria asked.

"My brother told me to be wary of Filch." Roger answered. "He said that Filch has got a hatred of all things magic."

'Perhaps Filch and Vernon should meet, they would make great acquaintances.' Harry thought to himself darkly.

"Then why does he work in a school of magic?" Maria asked curiously.

"Beats me." Roger admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders, "I think my brother said that he was a squib." As if that answered everything, the Ravenclaws made their way to lunch, via the tower.

At lunch, Harry found his thoughts being led back to the lesson which they had just sat in. He admitted that McGonagall's style of teaching was very refined, she balanced being strict and efficient with impartiality that should be expected of the deputy Headmistress. But he felt his mind being drawn towards the events in the corridor. The encounter with Filch was rather unusual, plus Maria did raise a good point, why would a man who allegedly 'hates all things magic' work in a school of magic?

Roger had alleged that the man was a squib, a word which he sworn that he has heard before. Wracking his brain for the answer, several minutes passed before he remembered; Steven Jorkins in passing had admitted that he was a squib which was why he did not go to Hogwarts.

So being a squib meant that one couldn't attend Hogwarts, presumably because they couldn't use magic. Fishing out a small notebook from the pockets of his robes, Harry scribbled a note to look into how squibs are formed in general and if there is any research into what squibs can/not do.

* * *

It was cold. Harry did not like the cold, nor did he like early mornings. Shivering as he wrapped his scarf tighter around his body as he tried to ignore the biting chill from the Scottish gale.

"Cheer up Harry." Cedric, ever the enthusiastic called out, noticing the other boy's dislike of the conditions. "It could be raining."

"Don't jinx it." Harry retorted darkly, amongst many other things, Harry did not like water.

The two boys made their way in relative silence towards their seats which were thankfully dry. Although a drying charm wasn't beyond either of the first years, it was good to see that they were not required to use their wands. Moreover, the seats seemed to be warm, as if someone had just sat on them.

"Cedric, these seats are still warm, perhaps someone else had just been sitting here and we've commandeered their seats." Harry remarked cautiously, not particularly willing to get in a confrontation with an older student.

"Nah it's fine, the seats are warm because of an enchantment." Cedric replied, "I actually asked my dad about the charms work involved in the seats, and he told me that warming and drying enchantments are applied to the seats in every stadium in the country." He explained, the enthusiasm from before returning.

"So, I'm assuming there's a keystone somewhere to make the enchantments relatively permanent?" Harry asked, casting his eyes over the pitch where one could see droplets of dew on the freshly cut grass.

"How do you know about keystones?" Cedric asked, surprised by his classmate's knowledge. To his surprise, Harry simply shrugged with a knowing smile on his face. "Never mind, but yes, my father said that there is a keystone in each stadium, but they don't make this information public knowledge."

Harry titled his head in slight confusion, and Cedric noticed this and chose to ask his unasked question. "This was because a few years ago, at Ballycastle, a bunch of the home fans found the keystone and altered it so that the enchantment wouldn't work for the away fans. Instead it would make the seats uncomfortably wet and cold. My father was at that match." Cedric explained, with a small laugh, as he recalled the memory.

The two watched patiently as the stands began to fill up with students of all houses, making small talk to pass the time.

"Rodney and Vicky did say that they were coming to meet us, right?" Cedric asked, wary that the match was due to shortly start.

Harry motioned at the seats next to them, "I've reserved these seats for them so they can sit there if they come."

Sure enough, Cedric felt his eardrums explode as a loud excited shout of his name was heard. "Say the devil's name once and she appears." Harry muttered to Cedric who let out a bark of laughter as the pair went to greet the exuberant Gryffindor and less enthusiastic Slytherin accomplice.

"Morning." Harry greeted curtly, as the two quickly made their way to their seats.

"Look you can see the teams." Vicky exclaimed as she pointed towards the field, where the four could see fourteen players stride out onto the field, broom in hand.

"And now we can see the two teams making their way to the field," The magically amplified voice of the commentator was heard.

"Playing in green, we have the Slytherin Quidditch team against their arch rivals the Gryffindor House Quidditch team." Harry watched in mild amusement as the stadium erupted in jeers and boors to ecstatic cheers. It wasn't so hard to miss the unpopular reputation of a certain house in green and silver.

The four watched as the game began, Cedric and Vicky being the most vocal out of the four as the match progressed. Harry was comfortable watching quietly, making sure that he would remember the exuberant atmosphere of a Hogwarts Quidditch match. The bipolar nature of the crowd, displaying a spectrum of emotions, from joy and elated cheer when their team scored a goal, to a more darker side when their side conceded or decision went against their favoured team.

Listening to Cedric describe the nature of the rivalry between the two houses, Harry cast his eyes out to the pitch where the match had taken a slightly darker tone. Harry was no stranger to the term contact sport, having been accustomed to plenty in the muggle world; rugby, football and Dudley's sadistic version of fox hunting, "Harry hunting", but it was clear that certain plays were not within the rules of the game. For example, Harry seriously doubted it was legal to be able to grab another's hair, or to yank one's broomstick abruptly.

The shrill trills of the referee's whistle became increasingly common as the match went on as the crowd began to become more and more agitated. Tensions were high, both on the pitch and in the crowd as the chants perpetrated by the Gryffindor contingent took a darker turn.

Chants went from "Stand up, if you hate Slytherin," to personal attacks on players. The house of Slytherin were no better, retaliating with scathing chants about Gryffindor players as the atmosphere of the stadium turned to one of malice. Harry fleetingly wondered if and more importantly when the match would turn seriously violent and the staff would have to intervene. He also fleetingly wondered what was for dinner that night, hopefully the elves might decide to deviate from the tried and true bangers and mash. A curry every once in a while, would be greatly appreciated.

"And the seekers are pulling into a dive. Will it be Higgs or Towler who emerges with the golden snitch to win the game for their teams?" The commentator announced as the stadium turned a deathly silent as all eyes were focused upon the duel between the seekers as they used their brooms to wrestle the other on the path to the elusive golden snitch.

The crowd gasped suddenly as one player, the seeker in red dived forward, leaving his broom behind as he made a desperate grasp for the snitch. Time seemed to slow as everyone watched the other seeker, Higgs, speed forward and angle the side of his broom into the midriff of his opponent. Naturally this knocked the Gryffindor off-course, into the ground. Fortunately for the Gryffindor, he was only several feet from the ground so the fall, whilst painful, it wasn't going to kill him. Unfortunately, it also meant that he was able to get up to watch his rival speed forward and grasp the snitch between his fingers, before raising up the captured object to the crowd.

"Ah shit, the little wanker has caught the snitch. The cunts in Green win." The commentator swore, despite the admonishment of Professor McGonagall, not even bothering to censor his language. The crowd seemed to agree with the commentator, as the stadium was filled with the sounds of booing and jeers at the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Oh wow." Harry remarked, as the Gryffindor seeker, the one which was knocked off his broom uncourteously, withdrew his wand from his Quidditch robes and marched over to the Slytherins, despite his teammates attempting to hold him back.

Harry watched as the Gryffindor opened fire with a curse of a nasty red colour, which the Slytherin seeker scrambled to avoid. Soon enough the Gryffindor seeker found himself outnumbered, but this was brief as the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team rushed to join their comrade in combat. Shouts plagued the air, despite the desperate attempts of the professors to diffuse the situation. Naturally, they failed.

"Well guys, this was eventful," Harry remarked as the four watched in varying degrees of horror as a small group of students, clad in red and gold, jumped onto the field, to join the skirmish.

* * *

[1] The spell to transform hair into flowers is given as 'herbfors', with the morpheme 'herb' presumably referring to a type of plant/plants in general and the suffix '-fors' as being a suffix used in general to denote a transfiguration. This is because in canon, the spell for transfiguring beetles into buttons was never revealed, only the wand action. Thus 'cimexfors' is a compound where the morpheme 'cimex' means 'bug' in Latin, thus the compound means 'transfiguration of a bug.'

[2] This is a play on a scene in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets where Ron consistently failed to perform the spell, and ended up conjuring a "foul grey-smoke" which led to him squashing his beetle.

I would like to take this time to provide an answer to something I saw in both a PM and review. This is basically the idea or concept of resourcefulness. Personally, I see there being different kinds of resourcefulness, for example, Snape (a character which will be studied heavily during the course of this fic), is resourceful as shown by his ability to both obtain the resurrection stone, know what it was, and to be able to use it.

A lot of fics on this website have included an extremely resourceful Harry, something too unrealistic for someone of his age. Most of these fics include a Harry with a large family fortune, or some magical inheritance which he manipulates the goblins to receive. This fic won't have this. I personally think that the most resourceful people are those who have little but make the most out of what they have (e.g. connections/allies etc.) That will be the nature of certain characters in this story.

On another note, I am on the hunt for a reliable beta to improve the standard of this story. If you are a beta/know of one, please do leave a message in the review section/PM

Disclaimer: All of this is owned by she-who-must-not-be-named.

As always, leave a review down below.

JoBH


End file.
